Apprentice
by Elielephant
Summary: The novice was a pain, annoying, always got underfoot and made him fail his mission, not once, but twice. He wanted the damned assassin to leave him alone, even if that meant taking a Leap of Faith off a bottomless cliff. But then again...no matter how much the novice got on his nerves, there was still a bit of good that came out of being bugged to death. Maybe.


I have been obsessed with Assassin's Creed more than usual since the new game came out, which led me to replay all the games, again. While playing, I came up with ideas for _allot_ of stories, but due to time and other stories I'm already committed to while in the busy schedule called college, I decided just to do little one shots instead and maybe I'll come back to them and make full stories. So, I guess these would be 'teasers', 'teasers' that may or may not happen.

So, anywho, I hope Altaïr isn't too OoC, (I have a bad habit of doing that sometimes with characters...).

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, only OC.

* * *

Apprentice

Not a sound was made as he stalked through the narrow alleyway, the cover of night and shadow shielding him from the archers prowling the rooftops. He stopped before the darkness ended abruptly by the light of the moon, his eyes scanning over the patrol of armed guards marching around the high walls of the fort and standing solemnly at its gates. They were oblivious to him; they even got so close to his spot that he could have grabbed one of the men and shoved his hidden blade through the man's back. But he wasn't rash; the loss of one man from the formation could jeopardize his plan. So he remained still, his back pressed firmly against the wall as his eyes gazed over all the men until it locked onto one that stood out among the rest.

The man was dressed differently compared to the guards; the one he heard about through the eavesdropping earlier that morning. Just like the guard had whispered to the other: the messenger would be wrapped in a thick cloak to hide his face. Though, the suspicious attire should not arise, the first guard had said to the other, for on the back of the black fabric was a red cross; the symbol of a Templar, which made the messenger a friend, not foe.

Though, the cloaked man still cautiously walked passed the guards; he had no reason to be afraid of them, but rather was he was carrying: documents. For what, he did not know for the guards didn't even know the details, only that the messenger was going to be coming to the fort that day.

This had brought a curious rise out of him when, in Jerusalem, there was a problem with a slaving operation. If the city guard was apart of such a thing, then he felt like there might be more men to kill than just the nine Al Mualim spent him to depose of… Though, he would not know the full details until he stole the papers from the messenger.

It was supposed to be a…simple pickpocket, but thanks to a…_unwanted_ mishap that almost got him killed, he lost the target that afternoon and spent almost the whole day looking for him again. The messenger could hide better than he had thought, but from his perch high above the Holy City, he spot him like an eagle hunting a mouse. He was luck to have found the man before the start of a new day and before he gave the plans to the intended receiver; sadly, it was just before that time. He only had a small window of opportunity to steal the documents and he had to be discreet about it since he was in a heavily guarded area.

He was able to talk a few scholars into his plan by saving one of their own from thugs, so he had cover to blend in with. Since one of the libraries was within the fort, scholars were allowed in. So, just in case he couldn't pickpocket the messenger outside the fortress gates, then he had a backup plan to get inside without getting spotted.

Though, he was confident that he would be able to pickpocket this man no matter the obstacle.

But then his senses picked up on non-too graceful footsteps from behind.

He groaned softly…_not again_.

No, it wasn't guards, he had spent a majority of his time scouting the Holy City and memorizing guard routes when he first arrived. He wanted to make sure that his mission was finished without a hitch. Yet, a hitch did appear; the footsteps that started to close in on him. He could never forget those _obnoxiously_ loud footsteps, _ever_.

He closed his eyes briefly, banging his head lightly against the wall behind it, and in the back of his mind, he begged for _that _damned novice to keep silent since the situation called for such a thing, but it seemed too much to ask for.

"_Al—_"

He whirled around at the sound of the loud, high pitched voice starting to form, slamming the palm of his hand to the offending, open mouth, his finger nails biting harshly into the skin of the novice's cheeks. He then shoved the smaller form to the wall and leaned against the novice to make sure that the slightly alarmed archers above would not see them.

There was shouting back and forth about '_what was that_' as the archers came to the edge of the alleyway to look down. They, luckily, couldn't see them thanks to the darkness engulfing their forms, but when the guards on the ground called up saying they would have a look, he stared to get even more frustrated then before.

He wanted to _avoid_ a fight; picking 'wrong' fights was what got him into this mess.

Though, the soldiers deemed the noise as nothing, only a voice from the distance that was carried by the wind.

When the alarmed guards calmed down, he then turned his attention to the novice. He didn't need to say anything, his look said everything. His stare was deadly, he could tell by the look on the young face inches away from his.

There was a bit of fear in the novice's dark eyes, but then it settled down to that annoyingly, cheery gleam that drove him absolutely _insane_. He hated _that_ look; it was the look of a child and an _adult_ should not wear such an expression, no matter the exceptions or reasons. Then, the novice tried to speak through the hand covering that non-stop running mouth, acting _even more_ like what the title of novice implied: a child. That made his brow twitch with irritation. This was getting on his nerves too quickly for comfort; he knew he had to be patient with the newer assassin, but still. He just couldn't take it anymore; he was at the end of his rope.

Then the sound of thick metal hinges creaked loudly, making him break his scowl from the novice to see the heavy wooden doors of the fortress open slowly, just enough for his, former, target to slip through, disappearing from sight as the wooden door closed again. Well, there was still his scholar plan, and he saw the group of men walking slowly towards the doors with their head hung low and hands folded together in pray. He needed to abandon the novice for now before his chance slipped away, but then he saw the guards surround the men, intimating them to leave. Plan B had just failed, probably because of the first failed pocketing mission that afternoon.

That made his blood begin to boil.

Snapping his attention back to the novice again, he applied more pressure to the smaller form, making the younger assassin flinch at the pain. But he did not care; the last bit of rope was gone and he was on the verge of just strangling the nuisance right then and there. Though, surprisingly, he kept his calm and only hissed in a dangerously low voice: "That is _twice_ today that you caused me to fail my mission."

The happy look from behind the shadow cast from the novice's cowl disappeared and an expression that showed a sincerely apologetic look came into view. Though, the '_sorry_' face the annoying novice tried did not work on him, so the novice then, stupidly, started to mumble against the glove of his hand once more.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance at the action and slowly removed his hand from the novice's mouth.

"Sorry, Altaïr," the novice mumbled softly, head hanging low when the strong stare started to really be effective. "I just wanted to help you, that is all," the young assassin continued, blushing lightly. "I was the one who told you about the messenger, remember."

True, the novice did tell him that there were whispers going around the guards, but when the novice told him that morning, Altaïr wanted to just ignore it since he thought it had nothing to do with the slavers. But after hours of being followed by the novice, he finally decided to check it out, just to get the younger assassin off his back. But he was lucky that he did since the Templars were paying off the city guards to turn a blind eye, apparently. But when he saw that the information was important, the novice thought that entailed the permission to job the mission, though Altaïr thought it was just an excuse.

The novice wanted to 'follow' in his footsteps, as in become his apprentice, since he was considered the best. Granted, Altaïr did think he was one of the best, though he didn't want a mere…_shadow_ at his heels all hours of the day. The other assassins already taunted him about that, which was another reason why he wanted the damned novice to leave him alone once and for all.

"I do not need your help," he scoffed arrogantly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Especially from a mere _novice_."

"But aren't you a novice as well," was the reply.

That brought a rise out of him, reminding him that he had been demoted, and he glared at the younger assassin. "_Be gone!_" He barked, though his voice was still soft due to the territory. "You are lucky I do not kill you for what you have done, not only once, but _twice!_"

"You wouldn't hurt a _girl_, would you?" The novice questioned, her voice sounding amused at the thought.

"That is only what you think," he responded coldly, whacking the side of her neck swiftly with his hand, knocking her out cold.

* * *

Luckily, the novice was a light weight, not only because she was a woman, but because she was lean. She did grow up in the lap of luxury until the death of her merchant father, which was the main reason she joined the Brotherhood. She wanted revenge, unlike her brother, which Altaïr admitted he felt was…backwards. Shouldn't the woman care not of revenge and leave that to a man?

That was only his logic, but he ignored the curiosity and continued on. He adjusted her form more comfortably on his shoulder as he made his way though the streets; he was lucky it was in the middle of the night or else he would have arouse the suspicion of the guards by now. Though, that didn't make the journey any easier. Sure, he was able to carry her back to the Bureau with ease, but that was the only easy part of the journey; the hard part was when Malik saw the situation.

Altaïr hoped that the Rafiq would be asleep when he returned, since he had to use the front door rather than the roof entrance. Though, it seemed that Malik being asleep was also too much to ask for.

When he walked through the door, the first thing Malik scolded him for was going through the front door; assassins were supposed to use the roof entrance, just in case. Though, Altair ignored the Rafiq's words and simply shut the door, walking further into the room, and that's when Malik saw by the light of his candle that he was carrying the unconscious novice over his shoulder.

Malik's rage went up into flames by then, ranting on about how he shouldn't have done that to one of the Brotherhood, but also a woman no less. _It's disrespectful_, he said. Though, many other assassins got into fights, sometimes even using weapons to settle disagreements; he only used a hand. Also, he did take the fact that the novice was a woman, which was why he only whacked a pressure point instead of a beating her to a plump; that is what he would have done if she were a man.

So, he cast off Malik's words as nothing. He had to do what needed to be done; she _did _get in his way, _twice_. Once, he could barely push aside, but twice, and at such a vital time? Plus the fact that the first time effected the second time; no, Altaïr could not let that slide, so he had to do something so there would not be a third time.

So, with what little time he had before the novice decided to rise from slumber, Altaïr laid the deadweight from his shoulder to the counter, causing Malik to have another fit because it covered all his scripts. He pushed the curses of the Rafiq away easily and then left the Bureau, properly this time.

The smell of fresh air invaded his nose, the wind rustling the white fabric of his robes; it was relaxing. And he needed to have a calming moment since he was pressed for time, not only because of the novice, but because of those papers. He needed them for his mission. If he had to worry about not only slavers, but also the city guard, then he wanted to know, and also why.

He needed to stake out the fortress to see who would come out; usually he could tell right away if someone was of high importance or had something of value. And it was seer luck that it was the Commander that came out.

The military man looked to be in a hurry, rushing through the predawn streets with a quick hop in his step, like he was racing the sun. By the look of the man's attire, it seemed that he was sleeping and had hurriedly put on his armor and tunic. The documents from the messenger must have had something dire within. And Altaïr also noticed that the man was going in the general direction of where the Slaver's Hold was. So, the city guard must have something to do with the slaving operation, but he didn't know exactly how yet; most likely for protection and the city got a small cut in the profit. Though, he couldn't be for sure yet, but there was only one way out and this was an opportunity to find out. The man was more focused on his goal rather than his surroundings, allowing Altaïr the prefect opening to strike.

From the rooftops, he trailed the Commander striding swiftly through the streets and waited for the moment the man made the mistake and went down an alley for a shortcut. It took sometime, but with his silent step, Altaïr stayed hidden from view. Every once and awhile though, he came across an archer on the night patrol, but that was an easy kill with just a quick jab to the neck with a blade. Though, with the occasionally kill, Altaïr almost lost the Commander a few times, but with Eagle Vision, he was able to pin point the location of the man again and again.

But, it slightly irritated him since when Altaïr was focused on killing a loose archer, that was when the Commander would turn down an alley and then be in the open streets by the time Altair caught up to him again. It all had to do with patience and waiting, and then the time came.

The Commander turned sharply down an alley and he was quick to follow using the beams that connected the closely placed houses for footage until it was his moment to drop.

The familiar screech of his hidden blade rang out in his ears as it slipped out from the gauntlet on his arm as he leaped from his perch above his victim.

The Commander barely heard him, his paranoia finally catching up to his rushing speed and he looked over his shoulder, the white of his eyes piercing through the shadow cast from his helmet when he saw Altaïr's dark form block the light of the moon. The man opened his mouth wide, ready to let out a cry of either mercy or battle, which one, it no longer mattered.

Altaïr plunged the blade into the flesh of the Commander's exposed neck. There was a small breath of air when the body grew limp as Altaïr landed to the ground with a thump. Quickly extracting his blade from the blood, Altaïr wasted no time searching the body, finding the documents he spent all day trying to get. A smirk formed on his lips, but he couldn't read the papers in the shadows of the narrow alleyway, he had to get to the rooftops.

Pocketing the papers, he then sprinted to the wall and used the building momentum to scale the course stones. His fingers hooked instinctively to the crevices as he climbed until he was standing on the rooftops once more. Then he pulled out the documents, unfolding the worn out papers and scanned over the words to finally get his answered.

And it had nothing to do with the slaving operation.

The documents had to do with cutting off all trade to Masyaf by the Templar's hand.

This was a surprise to him; no wonder the Commander was in a hurry. He wanted to get this message out before Altaïr got him because he was pretty damn sure that Templars knew he was there, thanks to that damned novice. But then again…that damned novice was the one that told him about it. If she hadn't of heard the brief rumor or if he hadn't of actually went after it…

He shuttered at the thought. All trade cut off from Masyaf would be a deadly blow to the Assassins.

Looking over the document once more, he noticed the names of all the merchants, some of them crossed off and also the name of the novice's father. It seemed that this letter had been in many hands; with less papers going around, that meant less of a chance it would fall into the wrong hands. Another reason why he was actually thankful for that damned novice for annoying him so much. Maybe she wasn't that bad after all…though she still needed work in some departments, but with the right training…

He paused in his thoughts, his lips going in a thin line.

He needed to get to Malik and show the Rafiq the documents.

And maybe…he would have a small chat with the novice; it wouldn't hurt to let her tag along for just one mission. Who knows, maybe if she did good then he would allow her to join him on another, maybe.


End file.
